I’ve been through a lot of crap in my life. Hard crap. Death, divorce, taxes. All of the things that could break a lesser woman, however, I had no idea what hard could be until Audrey started pre-K. See, I know my daughter. I know her sweet little heart, but I also know that one of the main reasons she is still alive is because she’s cute and she’s probably only cute to me because she’s mine. I know these things, I’m not trying to kid myself. So sending her off to someone who might not find her as cute as I do worries me, except for the fact that I know that legally they can’t kill her so that’s good, right?

I knew we would have some issues. I thought to call her teacher and give her a friendly warning but surprises are just so much fun. Audrey is “strong willed”(bossy) to put it nicely. She’s a leader, not a follower (again, bossy). She is vocal with a wide vocabulary and smart (bossy and a smart ass). Too smart sometimes while not being afraid to call you out. In fact, the other day I told my husband that I SWORE she gives me the “get your shit together, mom” look. Seriously, she does. In her defense, I often do need to get it together.

On the first day we had a long talk on the way to school about behavior and making good choices. I thought we were clear. That day upon pickup, a very sweet looking (and young, very very young) Miss Johnson pulled me aside and said “We had a tough day today.” Seems Audrey decided sharing was for amateurs, so was listening, cleaning, and pretty much anything else. Also, sand in the shoes. CRISIS! Crying melt down. Hysterics. And… Scene.

Day two: Wash/rinse/repeat

Day three we had a breakthrough. I decided to have a long talk with Miss Johnson about ways we could mutually team up to defeat the thumb-sucking dictator and reign supreme. I shared with her some ways that we work through issues and crying at home and implemented a sticker system to be done at home. You call it bribery, I call it winning. To-may-to, to-mah-to.

The deal was that if Miss Johnson said Audrey had a good day at school she would get a sticker for her chart at home. After 8 stickers she could pick a prize. Not surprisingly she choose a stuffed Parasaurolophus. I know right? Who wouldn’t?

Several great days followed. She was like a new kid! Then we had a bad day. Audrey again decided cleaning up the toys was for the staff and refused by staging a sit-in under her desk and crying. Later that day she didn’t get picked to do some job (oh NOW you want to help?) and this time chose to crawl under Miss Johnson’s desk. When they politely tried to pry her from her den she hit the teacher’s aide in the arm.

A few more good days….

And then…the day from hell.

Oh this particular day I walked in for pickup to see a haggard looking Miss Johnson who clearly looked in need of a stiff cocktail. She started off by saying, “Now I want to just say that everyone’s child has had a day today. All of them. ALL. OF. THEM. However…”

And this is where it gets interesting. So apparently Audrey got a little tired during Circle Time and decided a nap on the classroom kiddie sofa was in order. At this point, judging from the new grey hairs on Miss Johnson’s very young head (she’s got to be 25, tops), I could only imagine that she could have cared less about the impromptu nap time. Except, of course, Audrey took it a step further when every time she spoke (you know since she was TEACHING and all), Audrey would loudly yell, and yes, this is a direct honest-to-God quote, “WOULD YOU PLEASE KEEP IT DOWN, I’M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!”

I definitely didn’t plan this whole pregnancy thing out so well, timing wise, with the whole preschool thing because I don’t think I’ve ever needed a cocktail so bad in my life.

Cheers to you, Miss Johnson. Somebody get this girl a shot of vodka and a cookie…after hours, of course.

PS, can we talk, just briefly, about drop off. What the hell is the deal with school drop off? The first day of school I drove the wrong way down the drop off lines. Yes, I was that mom with my husband following behind me, completely mortified and cursing in way I’m sure would make a sailor blush. You would have thought I was clubbing a baby seal or letting Audrey mainline crack in her car seat! I’m new here people! Pre-k mom coming through! Drop off is like a well choreographed minivan ballet where nobody invited me to practice. Drop off scares me. Whatever Minivan Mafia, I’ll park and walk. I like the exercise, it’s only 106 out.

Share my nonsense:

Yesterday afternoon I was off to yet another doctors appointment because that’s what you do when you’re old and you’re pregnant. Old pregnant ladies go to lots of doctors appointments. In fact, I’ve had 3 ultrasounds and I’m only 12 weeks (as of today). This is the most photographed fetus in town. The Kim Kardashian of fetuses, if you will.

However this was a special ultrasound in that it was my NT (Nuchal Translucency) which is the test for Downs. People have asked why I agreed to take the test when my doctor recommended it to me. Well, first off, we would never terminate. Ever. But my doctor had a great point when she said she doesn’t offer the test so that you have an out, but so that you are prepared in delivery. So that if there are any other issues you will already have doctors lined up to be in delivery, therapists, supportive friends and family. And I 100% agree with all of that. See, I am a planner. A scheduler. I don’t buy a vacuum without 3 weeks of intense research, I’m not about to bring another person into this world without having done everything I could to make sure they have the best possible care from minute one.

Well, one of the happy side effects of this test is that if the baby is cooperative and you have a very nice ultrasound tech there is a good chance you will get the gender of your baby which is the one thing most people can’t wait to get. And I knew all this because, duh, Google. I was prepared. I took with me the sweetest little card and before I even sat down on the table I explained to the lady that I knew what was up and asked that if possible and if she didn’t mind would she write it down on the card so I could open it with my husband.

She explained to me that often they aren’t able to accurately get gender but she would try….and off we went.

Now in my heart I knew it was a boy. When pregnant with Audrey all I wanted was donuts, Lucky Charms and peanut better and jelly. With this kid I am all Mexican food and baked potatoes. I popped out right away, had hardly any morning sickness and pretty much no heartburn (yet). It HAS got to be a boy! I HAVE BEDDING PICKED OUT!

I know it. I feel it. MOTHER’S INTUITION!

At the end of our appointment she says “Got it.” Yay!

The husband and I race home to open it together….

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Yup. It’s a girl.

Upon hearing the news I froze in stunned silence. Audrey, who has decided she doesn’t want a brother because she doesn’t like the boys at school, said “YES!” with a very dramatic fist pump. And my husband leaned up against a wall just long enough to build up enough energy to start pacing the kitchen.

It took us a minute to digest and that’s normal right? You convince yourself things are one way and then they are another. It’s shocking. Am I slightly disappointed? Yes, I will say that I have been a little bummed, I mean everything I had picked out was for a boy. I had my heart set on teeny tiny ties.

Last night I spent the majority of the night online making a Pinterest board full all new bedding and room ideas. Back to square one. Slowly I started to see my attitude change. I felt myself getting excited about ruffles and bows and hardly missing the adorable navy blue whales.

However, one thing will stay the same…

NO FLIPPIN’ PINK.

Share my nonsense:

I was just looking over my sad, lonely little blog and noticing that the last time I posted was back in April. Hello? Is anyone still there? Diehards? My mom? There is a reason though. A reason why I haven’t shared all the wonderful moments from Audrey’s birthday in March where we took her to Disneyland for the first time and basically used her college fund to pay for Character Breakfast. And why there are no photos of her looking for Easter eggs with her cousins, and why you have yet to see, and hear, about her first day of pre-school.

I was in a funk.

Yes, again.

BUT, it get’s better.

Back in September of last year we were referred to a fertility clinic here in Arizona by my sweet doctor who had done all she can. This was our next step. I was nervous and I put it off as long as I could as I always said I wasn’t going to strap my family with a financial burden for something technically unnecessary and un-guaranteed. But here we were, creeping up on 37 and a half and not getting any younger. It was time to take the plunge.

In mid April I went in for an HSG (Hysterosalpingogram) and I was scared to death. I, of course like any rational person with an internet connection, went online and searched for How painful is an HSG? Answer: very. Essentially what happens is you lie down on a very hard, very cold table, naked as the day you were born from the waist down, and try not to move…or breathe. This is very hard to do when someone is man-handling your sensitive bits with some sort of cold solution. You ever see people sand blasting a sidewalk? Now scale that down to very tiny and inside your vagina. It’s like THAT.

What they are looking for is a reason why you are not getting pregnant, they are looking for blockages of tissue. However, this treatment is not only diagnostic in terms of finding whats wrong but it’s also therapeutic in that if there is a blockage the act of looking for said blockage usually tends to knock it out. Like a BOGO sale. Buy one, get one.

If you are planning on doing this my advice to you is: one whole Xanax and 4 Advil. But that’s just me and I’m not a doctor. In fact, don’t listen to me at all.

Now I have heard story after story of people successfully getting pregnant after this procedure, as soon as days after. Becasue of this it was back on the clomid. The first month was unsuccessful and I know it was just the first month but I was back to being discouraged. Throughout all this I was also wondering how much more my marriage could take. Maybe this is something that most people don’t talk about when discussing infertility but its so painfully hard on your marriage. You’re not happy, you’re obsessed, you’re stressed, your partner feels this. I think in some ways my husband felt at fault and just as guilty as I did. Then there’s the on demand sex. Oh yes, you’re tired, you’re grumpy, you’re bloated from the clomid, let’s get naked.

Uh, no. Let’s not.

Then you argue. Then you feel undesirable. Then you feel demanding and rigid and unreasonable.

Infertility is as awful place to be for everyone. This is supposed to be fun right? You start to feel…unwomanly. For lack of a better term, defective.

Month 2, post HSG, back on the clomid, calendar is marked with doctor appointments and little hearts where we should be doing it but this time they added shots. I went in for a sonogram to make sure the clomid was working and there was a big fat egg just waiting. The shots were to release the egg and then we wait…again.

On Father’s Day I took a pregnancy test…

Well, now that the cats out of the bag I can regale you with stories about morning sickness and panic attacks. All fun stuff so stay tuned…